


It Sure Would Be Prettier With You

by justpastsaturn



Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Eventual Romance, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slice of Life, Slow Build, as of chapter three its mostly ryker and the ass squad tbh, but we're getting to the alex content soon i promise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-22 02:55:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30031968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justpastsaturn/pseuds/justpastsaturn
Summary: It's only after he snaps and quits Joja does Ryker remember his grandfather's letter. With little tying him to the city, he heads out for his new life on the farm, hoping to leave what was behind him, behind him.A certain arrogant jock makes it hard for him.
Relationships: Alex/Male Player (Stardew Valley)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 21





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Decided to make a farmer oc and he got away from me. 
> 
> Ryker is just some punk kid who probably didn't deserve a farm to begin with.

“Mr. Armstrong? _Mr. Armstrong_.”

The voice was grating. Ryker didn’t look up from where he cradled his head in his hands. He felt sick. He probably was sick. Maybe not the kind of sick you went to the doctor for, but sick nonetheless. 

He was out of sick days.

“Mr. Armstrong, if you’re not going to work, I suggest finding a new job.”

Oh, if only, Ryker thought. He didn’t move, pressing his fingers into his eyes until he saw a myriad of color behind his eyelids. He didn’t have to look up to see her. His supervisor was a pointed woman, sharp on all fronts. She tied her straight black hair into a tight bun at the nape of her neck, her cat-eye glasses not softening the severity of her face. She rapped her knuckles on Ryker’s desk.

“Mr. Armstrong!”

“Ms. Smith, can you kindly shove it?” 

The words came out of his mouth without his consent. A phrase he’d thought on so many occasions boiling up and out his lips. Something dropped in his stomach. He was so fired. There went two years of college. There went his 401k. There went everything he’d thought he wanted.

Only he didn’t want it. Not anymore.

He stood, shoving his chair out from under him with so much force the rest of the cubicled room turned to him. He swayed as he stood, but pointed a look Ms. Smith with the resolve of a man with nothing to lose. He raised his chin. 

“I think I may take that suggestion of a new job,” he said. “I’ll have my desk cleared by the end of the day.”

_Can’t fire me, I quit._

He picked up his only belonging—a potted flower his mother had given him—and raised his eyebrows. “Well look at that,” he said. “I’m done.”

He turned, leaving the building that had been the last two years of his life, leaving the security, the stress, the stifling air of corporate life.

He didn’t look back.

The first thing Ryker did after walking out on his job at Joja was stop by the store for a bottle of hair bleach, a bottle of toner, and a six-pack. The second thing he did was order pizza. He got back to his apartment before noon, beating the pizza guy by a good ten minutes, enough time to mix the bleach and slap it haphazardly into his once brown hair. When the delivery guy showed up, Ryker tipped him double and closed the door in his face before he had a chance to comment on the bleach. 

After half the six-pack and most of the pizza, Ryker rinsed the bleach from his hair, splattering the toner over the lemon-yellow of his hair. He glanced at himself as he worked the toner through. He was too pale, too thin; a mixture of getting too little sun from his job, and too much stress—also from his job. There were bags under his eyes, dark circles that hadn’t been there two years ago. Hell, at twenty-two, he wasn’t sure he should have them at all.

By the time the toner had processed, and his six-pack was gone, Ryker was buzzed enough to wander into his room, search under his bed, and pull out his box of keepsakes. He sat cross-legged on his bed, rifling through the contents. There were old art projects from when he was a kid, a guitar pick he’d caught at his first concert, a pressed flower from his first boyfriend. At the bottom, though, was a letter. A letter he’d never opened. 

A letter from his grandpa.

He vaguely remembered his grandpa. He’s been old when Ryker was born, died when Ryker was still rather young. After he’d passed, Ryker was given a letter with strict instructions that he’d never quite understood. “ _There will come a day where you’re crushed by the burden of modern life…_ ” Ryker hadn’t understood then. 

He understood now. 

He ripped the envelope open, nearly cutting his finger on the seal. The letter fell out, along with a piece of brown paper that looked like a deed. Upon further inspection, Ryker realized it _was_ a deed. 

He read the letter.

He smiled.

The next day, he packed up what he couldn’t leave behind and took a bus heading to the country. Heading to the coast. Heading to Stardew Valley.

“Gee, thanks, Grandpa,” Ryker grumbled, wiping sweat from his forehead. The farm was horribly overgrown, weeds and rocks and branches taking up most of the field. He swung his sickle, taking down the weeds in front of him. He’d spent the first few days in the valley reading up on agriculture. Although he was starting to wonder if he’d bitten off more than he could chew, he couldn’t deny that he was happier today than he’d been in years. The sun felt delicious on his skin, warming him to his core. The air was clean, sharp, and he breathed in deeper than he felt he ever had. 

A new beginning, he thought. Something to get him away from thoughts of his old life. Thoughts of the past few months. 

The people seemed friendly enough, at the very least. Ryker had taken the time to introduce himself around town, and with the exception of a few sour grapes, everyone seemed to revel in the new face. Ryker wondered how long he’d be a local celebrity until he simply became another facet of the town. Part of him longed for that. To be a part of a scene. To not stick out or intrude. 

He supposed, if he didn’t want to stick out he shouldn’t have bleached his hair. It’d turned almost white with the toner, a shade of silver that stood in contrast to his young face. He liked it, but realized afterwards he hadn’t thought it through. 

It was a fatal flaw of his. Not thinking things through.

The thought made him laugh as he cut through another round of weeds and tall grasses. Not thought through at all.

But this time he couldn’t say he minded.


	2. First Steps

It was well into summer before Ryker surfaced from under the weight of running a farm and wandered into town. His entire spring had been full of nothing but pulling weeds and chopping down trees. Somehow he’d managed to grow a row of decent parsnips, and when he sold them to Pierre, he nearly cried over his earned money. He ate at the saloon that night, reveling in a cold beer and a decent meal that he didn’t have to microwave. 

Since then, he’d been doing better. He got the hang of farming faster than he’d thought he would. Now that summer was coming in at full force, he was ready with his seeds planted and watered, his new saplings standing tall, and his chicken coop halfway to completion. It wasn’t easy, but it was becoming second nature. To wake up in the morning was no longer something he dreaded. His chores were often done before noon now, and he was beginning to try to make friends in town.

Which was proving to be harder than he thought. 

He’d wondered in the beginning how long it’d be before he was no longer a town celebrity. It turned out, it was about a month. He hadn’t even enjoyed the month of fame. 

The sun was horribly hot, bringing drops of sweat to his skin as he walked the trail from his farm into town. He passed the broken down bus, sending a glance over his shoulder at it as he went. He shook his head and turned forward. 

Once he got into town, he considered going back home. It was one thing to come into town to sell his crops, but another to try and—he shuddered—make friends. It’d never been his forte over the years. He was, apparently, “too intense” and “a better fit for behind the scenes work” according to his quarterly reviews at Joja. It was the corporate approved way of telling him he was kind of an asshole. He couldn’t really argue. He didn’t mean to be an asshole. He was just chronically misunderstood.

Or so he told himself.

Too caught up in his thoughts, he wasn’t paying attention to where he was going. Neither, coincidentally, was Sam on his skateboard. Ryker glanced up in time to see him careening towards him, realizing—too late—that they were on a collision course. There was a split second where they locked eyes and shared a look of fear before they slammed into each other, falling to the ground. Sam groaned. Ryker laid very still, hoping he didn’t break anything. He had peppers to water in the morning.

“Sorry! Sorry!” Sam said, finally pulling himself off the ground. “I totally didn’t see you.”

Ryker turned onto his side slowly. He put a hand to his head, his fingers coming back red. “How bad is this cut?”

“Shit,” was all Sam said. “Hang on, I’ll get Harvey.”

Ryker couldn’t remember which one was Harvey. He sat up, leaning heavily on a lamppost. Why was he here anyway? To make friends? Well, maybe Yoba was sending him a sign. Maybe he should have stayed in bed today.

Sam returned a moment later with Harvey in tow with a doctors’ bag, and Ryker nodded to himself once he saw them. That’s right, he thought, Harvey with the mustache. He crouched down next to Ryker, taking his chin in his hands and moving his head down so he could inspect the cut. 

“What do you think, doc?” Ryker asked. “Amputation?”

It was enough to startle a laugh out of both Harvey and Sam. Harvey shook his head. “No, it’s a flesh wound. No need for stitches, but I’ll bandage you up.”

Harvey pulled a few things out of his bag, but Ryker stopped paying attention. He put something on the wound that stung and then bandaged it up. Then, he helped Ryker to his feet. 

“Doesn’t look like you have a concussion, but if you start feeling lightheaded or dizzy, come see me,” he said. “And Sam, please pay more attention to what you’re doing.”

“Sorry, Harvey,” Sam said, rubbing the back of his neck. He hadn’t made eye contact with Ryker since they collided, and Ryker was starting to think he could cross him off his list of potential friends. Which sucked, he realized, because it seemed like they were of an age. 

“You should be apologizing to him,” Harvey sighed. “Stay out of trouble now, both of you.” With that, he left the two of them alone.

“Hey man,” Sam started. “I’m sorry about that.”

Ryker shrugged. “I wasn’t paying attention either. No biggie.”

“No, really, I feel like I owe you something,” Sam said. “What can I do to make it up to you?”

Ryker was suddenly uncomfortable. “Just tell everyone I got this starting a fight with you and we’re even.”

Sam laughed, nervously. “That all?”

“No, you have to say I won, obviously,” Ryker said, biting his lip to hold back a smile. “And that it was over who has the more ridiculous hair.”

“Hey now,” Sam said, barely containing his smile. “Leave the hair out of it.”

“I would but I’m pretty sure it’s developing a mind of its own.”

They both laughed, and Ryker readjusted his potential friend list. Maybe this is how people in the country made friends. He wasn’t above a little scuffle if it meant he didn’t have to spend every night off with the little orange cat Marnie had given him. 

“Well, I’m glad you’re at least okay,” Sam said. “Catch ya later?”

“Hopefully not as forcefully.”

“Yeah,” Sam laughed. “Not as forcefully.”

Ryker nodded, and Sam skated off. He smiled to himself. Not exactly as he’d planned, but he couldn’t deny it was something to talk about. Nevertheless, he decided, it was time to get home. Before something else hurt him.

He turned sharply to head back to the farm, took half a step, and rammed into a wall of muscle. He nearly fell, but was grabbed by the front of his shirt and pulled forward.

“Whoa, farmer guy, you alright?” 

Ryker caught his bearings. In front of him was Evelyn’s grandson, though he couldn’t remember his name off the top of his head. They’d spoken once.

“I’m having trouble watching where I’m going today,” Ryker admitted. “Sorry.”

“No problem,” said the other man. “Hey you get in a fight of something?” He pointed to the bandage on Ryker’s head. 

“You should see the other guy,” Ryker joked. He coughed. “No, but really, like I said, having trouble watching where I’m going.”

“Well, good luck with that.” 

He turned and left, his green jacket practically reflecting the sunlight. Ryker watched him a moment more than was polite. He was fit, tall, tanned, and Ryker liked all of those things. 

Mentally, he started a new list. 

That night, he laid awake, touching a hand to the wound on his head. His mother used to berate him for things like that. He always had to press the hurt. Never could leave well enough alone. It was a fair assessment. He always had to be the one holding his hand to the flame. Always had to go touch the electric fence. It’d gotten him into trouble over the years.

He pulled his hands under the blanket and turned his face towards his cat. He was purring softly, sleeping in a ball at the head of the bed. Ryker put a hand to the cat’s stomach, earning a gentle  _ brrp _ sound. 

“Probably should sleep,” he told the cat. 

The cat didn’t reply. He sighed.

He closed his eyes, letting the day fall off his shoulders. Behind his eyelids he saw the man in the green jacket, Evelyn’s grandson, and he bit his bottom lip as he remembered.

“Alex,” he said. “His name is Alex.”


	3. New Friends, New Beginnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm taking liberties with the set up of the saloon in this so bear with me.

His budding friendship with Sam, it turned out, came as a package deal. They’d shared a few more casual conversations, mostly about music—Ryker was surprised by Sam’s range—before Sam finally invited Ryker over to hang. Ryker played it cool, but he nearly vibrated out of his skin at the offer. Solitude wasn’t a good look on him, and his cat—who he’d named Percival—was starting to resent his clinginess. After he’d finished his chores, he changed out of his barn clothes and nearly ran back into town. 

When he got to Sam’s, Jodi greeted him at the door and led him to Sam’s room. He took in a steadying breath as he entered. He hadn’t had a casual hangout with a friend since college. Joja had seriously eaten into his personal life. Most of the few friends he'd had gave up on him after he entered the workforce and stopped calling back.

“Hey, Ryker!” Sam said, looking up from his guitar. “Was wondering when you’d show up.”

“Yeah, sorry. Chores took a little longer than I thought, today,” Ryker said. He didn’t say that he’d spend half the morning prepping himself for this. He was afraid of awkward pauses and lingering silences, so he’d spent the day thinking of interesting things to talk about in case there was a lull in conversation.

“No problem, man,” Sam said, putting down his guitar. “Hey, I hope you don’t mind a small change in plans. I forgot Seb and Abby and I were gonna meet at the arcade today and I cleared it with them to bring you along. That okay?”

For a moment, Ryker wished he could wither into his shoes. He didn’t know if he was prepared to deal with three new people. “Yeah, no, it’s cool.”

Sam lit up. “Sweet! Figure we can grab some drinks, some food and just hang.”

Ryker forced a smile. “Yeah, I’m down.”

He wasn’t down, but he knew better than to be a party-pooper. Sam stood from where he sat and motioned his head towards the door. Ryker followed him out. 

“Okay mom, I’m going out!” Sam said. Ryker wasn’t usually one to judge, but he couldn’t wrap his mind around what it’d be like to still live with his mother. Not to say he disliked his mom—she was a saint—but he’d been on his own since eighteen and the idea of answering to anyone left a bad taste in his mouth. 

He didn’t think too hard about it. Sam was already talking animatedly about something Ryker missed, and he did his best to nod along. 

When they got to the saloon, Ryker did his best not to fake an illness and leave. They walked up to the counter and Sam ordered a pitcher of beer and a couple pizzas. Gus poured them their pitcher and chuckled, hitching a thumb at Ryker. 

“Don’t see you out here too often,” he said. 

Ryker shrugged, self-conscious. “Farm’s a lotta work.”

“Well, don’t work yourself too hard,” Gus said, his voice sincere. “Don’t want you burning yourself out.”

“Thank you.”

They moved into the arcade, and waited for Sebastian and Abigail. Ryker took a long pull from his glass as Sam went to play a round of Journey of the Prairie King. Ryker put his glass down and sighed. He wanted to go home. Maybe having friends was too much for him these days.

Just as he was considering excuses to leave, Abigail came in, her purple hair flouncing as he poked Sam in the side. 

“Hey, where’s Seb?” she asked as a way of greeting. 

Sam shook his head. “Not here yet.”

“I can see that,” Abigail said, rolling her eyes. She went to say something, then shifted her eyes to Ryker.

“Oh hey,” she said. “Glad you decided to come out tonight. I feel like I only see you when you’re selling stuff at dad’s.”

“It’s a big secret,” Ryker said, deadpan. “I’m actually a vampire, cursed to live on the fringes of society.”

“That’s pretty cool,” she said. “I’m a swamp monster.”

“I’m a ghoul,” Sam threw in, not looking up from his game.

“What does that make Seb?” Abigail asked. 

Sam looked at his watch. “Late.”

Ryker laughed, thrilled that they both played along. “Maybe he’s a werewolf and he’s late ‘cause he transformed and now he’s stuck in his room.”

“Ooh, good theory,” Abigail said, taking a seat beside Ryker. She poured herself a glass of beer and took a long drink. “More likely: he’s busy working on his computer and he’s not paying attention to the time.”

Ryker almost asked what work he did, but as he was about to ask, Sebastian wandered in. Sam immediately turned from the game, coming up to him with a shout. They clasped hands in an intricate pattern, before turning back to the rest of the group.

Ryker leaned over to Abigail. “Do we all get secret handshakes?”

“No, that’s their thing.”

“Thank Yoba.”

Abigail laughed, and Sam and Sebastian sent them a questioning look. Ryker shrugged. He noted that Sebastian hadn’t made eye contact with him since he walked in, but decided not to take it personally. 

Their pizzas came and they dug in, saving Ryker from having to make conversation for a bit. He looked around. From where he sat in the arcade, he could see into the bar. He scanned over the assortment of people there. Lewis sat at the counter, and they met eyes for a second until the mayor turned away sharply. Apparently, he still hadn’t gotten over Ryker finding his dirty little secret with Marnie. Ryker took a drink from his glass. It wasn’t like he was going to tell anyone. He knew when things weren’t his business.

He looked past the mayor and met eyes with Shane for a moment. Ryker suppressed a grimace. As much as he tried to convince himself he disliked no one in town, he couldn’t help the sinking feeling that Shane brought out in him. Memories dredged up at the scent of alcohol on his breath when he stood too close to tell Ryker to go away. 

Ryker avoided him when he could.

He shook himself from the thoughts and turned back into his group. They’d all but finished the pizza and Sam and Abigail were discussing some video game they were playing. Ryker took another drink and turned to Sebastian.

“So I hear you do computer work?” he asked. 

Sebastian shrugged. “It’s mostly freelance work.”

“That’s pretty cool, though,” Ryker said. “My ex was a computer science major. It always fascinated me, but I’m pretty sure technology as a whole has it out for me.”

Sebastian cracked a small smile. “It can smell fear.”

“Things end bad with that ex?” Abigail asked. “Or can you hook her up with Seb so he’ll stop being a sad lonely boy?”

The tone was teasing, but Ryker blinked in surprise. “Her?”

“Oh,” Abigail said. “Him?”

“Sorry,” Ryker said, shaking his head. “I just assume I’m obvious because of the everything about me.”

Sam and Abigail both laughed, and Sebastian hid a smile, turning his head. 

“It’s all good,” Sam said, pointing around the table. “No one here is straight.”

“Speaking of, you guys are never going to believe the girl I was talking to on the web yesterday—”

Abigail launched into some story, but Ryker stopped listening as the door to the saloon opened and in sauntered Alex. Gus greeted him at the counter and handed him a bag of food. Too caught up in watching him leave, Ryker didn’t notice the table had gone silent.

“Uh, earth to Ryker?” Abigail said. “You still with us, pal?”

“Huh?” Ryker asked, shaking himself. “Yeah, no, I’m here.”

Sam shot him a look. “Were you just checking out Alex?”

Ryker felt his face heat. “And if I was?”

“Just don’t let him catch you,” snorted Sebastian. “Fuck knows he doesn’t need the ego boost.”

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re crushing on _that_ ,” Abigail said. “Alex is awful.”

“Yeah, arrogant jock jerk with a god complex,” Sam threw in.

“Stop guys,” Ryker said. “You’re just making him more and more my type.”

There was a second’s pause before they dissolved into laughter. Ryker hid a smile behind his almost empty glass. “Listen, I’m just looking. I just got out of a shit relationship, I’m not looking to get into another.”

“Well, if it’s not going to kill your dreams, then we should probably say: Alex is as straight as they come. Don’t waste your time.”

“Consider it not wasted,” Ryker said. “Is anyone going to eat the last piece?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. They spent the rest of the night playing games and chatting, and by the time last call rolled around and they stumbled home, Ryker was feeling like he’d won the jackpot. 

He’d signed up for one friend, and somehow, miraculously, he’d gotten three.

And if Alex was the last thing on his mind as he fell into sleep that night, no one needed to know about it. 


End file.
